


the false dichotomy of strength or weakness

by LuciaZephyr



Series: The Matter of Chicago [2]
Category: Dresden Files - All Media Types, Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Alternate Reality, M/M, Series, The Matter of Chicago
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-20
Updated: 2011-03-20
Packaged: 2017-10-17 04:14:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/172790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuciaZephyr/pseuds/LuciaZephyr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Interlude of Matter of Chicago series) Good help was hard to find, especially in my field of work. The realms of supernatural, criminal and legitimate business, and real estate did not overlap as often as one would hope, given how lucrative such synergistic activities were. There was a reason my employees were paid so well and had the best health coverage in the nation. They were the most valuable resource I had.</p><p>Some, admittedly, were more valuable than others. And, to my eternal dismay, as someone's value increased, so did their penchant for giving me headaches.</p><p>Harry Dresden was <i>irreplaceably</i> valuable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the false dichotomy of strength or weakness

**Author's Note:**

> As promised, this is the Marcone POV interlude between _[other things the road to hell is paved with](http://archiveofourown.org/works/160668)_ and the upcoming _putting out your fires with gasoline_.

Good help was hard to find, especially in my field of work. The realms of supernatural, criminal and legitimate business, and real estate did not overlap as often as one would hope, given how lucrative such synergistic activities were. There was a reason my employees were paid so well and had the best health coverage in the nation. They were the most valuable resource I had.

Some, admittedly, were more valuable than others. And, to my eternal dismay, as someone's value increased, so did their penchant for giving me headaches.

Harry Dresden was _irreplaceably_ valuable.

"You're _where_?"

"Michigan!" Harry called over the static-drowned line. "The state, not the lake. Though I'm working near Erie. Tiny town, something French. I'd tell you, but then you'd mock me for pronouncing it wrong."

I rubbed my eyes with the hand that wasn't holding my Blackberry against my ear. Harry had dropped off the grid only six hours previously and had managed 300 miles since then. I begrudgingly acknowledged a modicum of respect for the vehicular monstrosity he drove. "And what are you doing there?"

"Well, _Mom_ ," he mocked, "I'm working a case. Something in the water spooking everyone. I've been getting calls about something in the Lakes for a month now. Separate sources describing the same entity is suspicious. Hopefully I can catch it here before it moves again. Otherwise I may have to head for Ontario."

I considered making an Oedipal joke, questioning the tendency to refer to someone he was sleeping with as his mother. I decided against it. Harry was often very good humored, but he had a stubborn grip on his sexual issues which made such a remark ill-advised. His mental landscape was a _minefield_. "The lake or the province?"

"Ha ha, scumbag. I'll be back in a few days. Please don't start a gang war or incite a supernatural political scandal while I'm away."

"I would hate for you to miss out on such entertainment." Unbidden, the words came out: "Be careful."

"Bye, John."

I disconnected the call and set my phone aside, returning to the information bulletin I'd received from my contact at MonOc Securities. "Where were we?"

Over the top of his copy of the bulletin, Mr. Hendricks gave me a strangely sympathetic look. "He'll be fine."

Mr. Hendricks, like Harry, was very valuable. And, thus, quite annoying at times.

"Of course he will. It'd take an act of God to truly endanger that man. I think we were up to Undertown?" I tried to politely steer the conversation back to pertinent topics. There were only so many hours in the day and I tended to use them all thoroughly.

"Gives you time to figure out what to get him anyway."

"Undertown. The Malk overpopulation resulting in trouble around the Loop. Apparently this is a recurring issue."

My bodyguard and assistant nodded dutifully. "Malks are Winter faeries, Dresden said. It's that time of year."

We'd have to do something about Undertown eventually. It was releasing trouble into my city on a regular basis. Such a chaotic element couldn't be left unchecked.

I did not tolerate chaotic elements. Unless, of course, they worked for me.

 

Harry Dresden and I should have been impossible. We were, in our way, too similar, like two positive magnets that refused to meet regardless of how much force was used to push them together. We were both incredibly stubborn. We were both utterly impossible to compromise with. And, more pertinently, we both didn't understand want.

To be fair, I wanted practical things. My wizard's safety. My city tamed and thriving. Success in business. But material wants didn't enter my thoughts often anymore. They hadn't for years.

And similarly, Harry never wanted anything. He sometimes needed specific things for a job or ritual, but nothing else. Offer him something he didn't require and he'd turn you down. He didn't need this, he didn't need that. Want never entered into it with him.

I knew the feeling. I even understood it. That didn't make finding something for his birthday any easier.

Mr. Hendricks and I walked through a shopping mall I owned, doing an impromptu check-in to see how things were running. It may have been an unplanned bit of investigation, but such things were not unheard of. Making it clear I could arrive at any time, any day to personally see to various operations kept those who worked for me on their toes.

Hendricks stood at my back, his gaze sweeping up and down the lanes of foot traffic, keen-eyed. If he had his way, I would never enter a crowded area. It made his job more difficult, but I refused to hide in the heart of my empire.

"We looking for anniversary presents now?" Hendricks asked.

"We aren't looking for anything, Mr. Hendricks," I said curtly, hoping he'd drop the subject already. "And I don't know what anniversary you might be referring to."

"You didn't get him anything for the last one. Figured you might be rolling the birthday and anniversary thing together." He shrugged one shoulder. "Plus, you're looking at leather. Third anniversary is leather. It's tradition."

I turned to glare at him, making a small piece of my displeasure known. "Do I strike you as a traditional man?"

Hendricks didn't smile, but he didn't look remotely put-off by my demeanor either. "Next year's fruit or flowers. Should do roses, it'll drive him nuts."

I snorted indelicately at the thought. "It's a very short drive."

He nodded to me, looking away, returning to his ongoing threat assessment. "Ain't that the truth." Then, more quietly, "You'll find something, Johnny, don't worry."

"I am not worried." And I wasn't, not about the gift. I worried about Harry though. As dearly as I wanted to put a leash on him, keeping him homebound would only lead to dramatics on his part, and Harry Dresden's dramatics tended to involve fire. My insurance premiums were high enough already in the wake of our battle with the Red Court.

I had no way to contact him, wherever he was in Michigan. I longed to slap a GPS-enabled collar around his neck, if such a device would function in close vicinity to him. Doubtful.

There was nothing to be done about it though. I checked my phone again, to be sure I hadn't missed a call, before putting my worry out of mind where it could not interfere with my business.

Because as my legitimate enterprises thrived, there was always pruning to do on the darker side of Chicago.

 

I was not exaggerating when I told Harry I was a professional monster. One could ask Marco and Tony Vargassi for details on the subject if I hadn't killed them and built an empire on their bones.

 _Requiescat in pace_ , Marco Vargassi, you spineless incompetent excuse of a man. Thank you for the name, if nothing else.

I found myself oddly fond of my title. Gentleman. It was far more respectful and suitable than most appellations used in the criminal underworld. In a time when John Marcone wasn't someone I knew, a name that didn't quite fit me, Gentleman Johnny came easily. Perhaps I owed Marco a debt for helping me find my footing in my new life.

His death was quick and painless. That was a greater courtesy than he deserved. I don't often show mercy.

The man I had in my basement, tied to a chair, would learn that lesson. As soon as I got off the phone.

"You found it, then?" I asked as I slowly see-sawed a knife between two fingers.

"Yeah," Harry said. "Faerie of some kind. If I'm lucky, it'll just be some kelpies."

"And if you're unlucky?"

"Pessimist."

"Not at all. I simply think one should prepare for all eventualities."

"That's what you don't get, John. Villains, they always have a plan, and the plan goes wrong. Good guys, they just play it by ear and make it out miraculously intact."

The bound man lost his patience very suddenly. He started rocking in his chair, loudly grunting with effort to tip out of it or move. "Motherfucking, get me out of here, someone--!"

I shoved a cloth gag in his open mouth. It muffled the man's hollers effectively.

"What was that sound?"

"I'm in a meeting at the moment. Don't worry about it," I said, defusing him easily. To Harry, meetings involved closed up board rooms and hours of dull conversation to reach a foregone conclusion. I did nothing to dissuade him of that assumption.

"Oh, didn't mean to interrupt. Sorry. Sooo I'll probably be here another night. I'll summon the faerie tonight and be on my way back to Chicago tomorrow."

"Excellent." Except not at all. I had until then to think of a proper gift for him. I'd still had no luck. How frustrating that Harry's only hobbies consisted of magic (for which I already kept him well-stocked) and tabletop gaming (for which I lacked the expertise to choose something appropriate). If only he'd let me purchase a car for him. I would even suppress the urge to have his Volkswagen taken apart for scrap. I _loathe_ that car. "Let me know if anything comes up."

"Will do. G'night, John."

I ended the call, tucked my Blackberry into my back pocket, and pulled the gag out of my guest's mouth. "Where were we, Mr. Emmerson?"

"You can't fucking do this," the man half-screamed. His eyes were bright with fear by now. Taking a phonecall mid-troubleshoot almost always scared a doomed man. Performing simple knife tricks exacerbated that fear. I'd been doing both for Emmerson. "I-I helped take out the Jamaicans! I've been with you since the start!"

I went on as if he had ignored the question. "Yes, I remember. We were discussing the five million you skimmed out of the heroin profits." Careful enunciation of _five_ made it clear to him we had not only found his decoy fund, but also the other account where he'd stashed the majority of the money.

Emmerson snarled like rabid animal. "Like you fuckin' need it! Fancy man like you. Fancy suits. Fancy fucking GitMo room. Expect me to feel bad?" He scoffed. "Shit."

How very shortsighted some of my employees were. "You would if you were business savvy enough to know who you were stealing from. It certainly wasn't me. The majority of the money from the drugs and whores is funneled back into the Outfit, paying salary, commission, and giving everyone that health insurance they use so freely. You were privy to the conflict with the Red Court this last winter."

"Vampires, yeah. What about it?"

"Where do you think the money for that initiative came from? Solely from my own pocket? There are limits to my affluence. A bank loan, perhaps?" I shook my head chidingly. "Think, Mr. Emmerson."

Emmerson lost some of that bravado men often conjured up when facing certain death. Doubt crossed his features. "I don't..."

"You stole from the Outfit. A sizable amount, I might add. You stole from the people you trusted your life to on a daily basis, from those who fought the Red Court while you languished in your corner of Chicago with your simple job of laundering the heroin profits. Your safety was bought with their blood and this is how you repay them." I leaned in close to the man's face and whispered. "You hurt my people."

This wasn't necessary. I got no pleasure at prolonging a man's death. But I was disappointed in Emmerson and I wanted him to understand why before I killed him. I operated this city for the betterment of everyone, and yet men like Emmerson were not satisfied. I also wanted the men guarding the room to know how disappointed I was, and for that Outfit's grapevine to do its job.

It took precious time to teach Emmerson the severity of his actions. It took time, blood, salt, and bruises.

Later, I mechanically washed the blood off my hands as Emmerson's body went cold, and I thought about necessity.

 

I let myself into Harry's room after Emmerson's body was disposed of, looking for inspiration.

I am somewhat aware that most of humanity is not capable of that, moving from enacting bloody retribution on a man to refocusing on selecting a birthday gift. Most of humanity is not anything like me. I am a monster, but I am not _simply_ a monster. The day that changed, I'd put a bullet in my own head.

As I was beginning to feel the slight stress of not having a plan for Harry's birthday, a less than monstrous emotion, I assumed I was safe yet.

For varying degrees of safe. The skull on Harry's dresser lit up with a orange glow reminiscent of candlelight. If I didn't know better, I would assume such a thing was just a very morbid lantern of some kind. But the skull opened its mouth and spoke.

"Well, well, _well_ , Mr. Sexy Mafia Overlord graces me with his studly presence!"

"I have a name, thank you."

"Not one you'll tell anyone though, right? Boss told me about you keeping your True Name hush-hush. Paranoid, but smart." I got the impression the skull was eyeing me up. "Smart guys are hot."

Every time, the skull insisted on doing this. I had no idea why. As far as I could tell, it lacked a body with which to enjoy carnal indulgences. His interest made no sense.

I attempted to simply ignore the thing as I browsed Harry's room. If I didn't find some gap to fill in Harry's life by myself, I'd have to resort to asking Mr. Hendricks. I dearly hoped it wouldn't come to that. He never said anything about my relationship with Harry, but I could tell he found the whole affair entertaining. Like his own personal soap opera.

"If you're looking for skin mags, the boss doesn't use 'em. Not his style. Thanks for sorting him out, by the way. He doesn't whinge nearly as much as he used to. Bit more _mellow_ , yanno what I mean?"

I did. My back was to the skull, so I indulged in a smile. I knew intimately well how mellow Harry Dresden could get. For a man so fraught with tension and neuroses, bed him and he would sprawl so languidly. His spine went liquid, bending his body appealingly as he caught his breath in the wake of orgasm, flushed beneath his skin. He smiled with his whole face, eyes warm like chocolate melted over a fire...

The skull behind me inhaled sharply. "Ooh, what are you thinking about? Is it sexy? Your aura's all bright and sparkly!"

Meddlesome thing. It was amazing Harry put up with sharing a room with...

Ah. There we go. I should have remembered that a while ago. God knew I'd entertained the idea for a while since Harry moved in. It was a larger project than I was quite prepared for given my small window of opportunity, but it would do.

Harry needed his own space. Before he was forced into my home, he was shockingly neat about his little basement lab. I'd never seen it myself, but Mr. Hendricks had and reported dutifully back about it. Organized, plenty of shelving, a large work area, and apparently a copper circle laid into the floor.

A few months ago, I would be hesitant to offer a new space. Harry still had moments of worrying self-pity about losing his home. I knew he sometimes drove back to it when he wasn't paying attention at the end of a long day. But I hadn't gotten word of him doing that in the last month or so, which was progress for him. Perhaps now I could give him a lab space without serious repercussions.

I walked to the dresser and faced the skull. "I require your help. You accept payment in pornography, correct?"

"Depends on what you need." Its eyes burned brighter. "But considering you run a few cathouses... I'm sure we could work something out."

 

I went into the office the next day pleased with the progress being made on Harry's gift. I had my people working through the night to get everything set up properly and a promise from a contractor friend of mine that the silver ring for the floor would be ready by installed shortly after two. They'd work until mid-afternoon, then clear out. Harry wouldn't have any idea what was going on unless he came home early. That was unlikely; he was a stalwart advocate for fashionable lateness.

I spent my morning reorganizing the command structure of my narcotics operation to compensate for the loss of Emmerson. A conference call with some of my investors came after, and I did my best to assure them the latest spike in my insurance rates would not be a problem. And it wouldn't, as soon as I had a talk with my provider about the exorbitant price hike.

I received an update on the construction of another nightclub ( _Dionysus_ , because I had a fondness for themes) that I was building to compete directly with an establishment called _Club Zero_. I took notes on the setbacks, deep in my work, when Hendricks signaled me. He tapped his phone and indicated line four was waiting for me and it was important. "Ms. York, I'll have to call you back. Yes, thank you." I ended my call and pressed the blinking button on my phone. "Yes?"

The line was quiet for a moment, just some muffled, strange sound I couldn't place. "John?"

I sat up straighter in my chair. Harry. "What's wrong?" Because something was. He sounded detached, exhausted, and... nasal. I had no idea what to make of that.

"Uh, well..." Harry's voice was restrained and tight. Little details. I shut my eyes and focused on the sound. "Job went kind of sour. Do you have any people in Michigan?"

I grabbed a pen and jotted down a note before holding it up to Mr. Hendricks: _Find who we have in MI._ He nodded and started to work on his computer, likely sending out what amounted to an APB to everyone on our network. "Finding out now. What happened?"

Harry laughed, but it turned into a cough. It grew muffled, like the sound I heard when I first picked up the line. He was coughing and covering the mouthpiece of the phone. "Ugh," he groaned. "The faerie in the lake kicked my ass."

I frowned. He had spoke of it yesterday like it has going to be no problem to banish the faerie. Something changed. "How?"

"It was an old friend. Just my luck. Remember the Nix that tried to kill Cujo?"

The one Harry had made a rather dirty deal with. While nothing Harry said to the Nix had been untrue, I knew the offering he'd given the creature-- a bottle filled with his own blood-- was heavily tainted with iron powder. I knew how I would react to such a bad deal, and this wasn't looking much more promising. "What'd it do to you?"

"Curse. Bad health spell. I managed to deflect most of it, but..." He took a deep wheezing breath. "I... need help. I can't drive like this."

A tight knot formed in my chest. For Harry to admit to weakness like that was a serious thing. I looked over and Mr. Hendricks and signaled for him to hurry the hell up. "I'll take care of it. Where are you?"

"Couer d'Couers? Something like that. Staying at the Charles' household."

A window appeared on my monitor with the names of ten people. I typed in Harry's location and sent it back to Hendricks. He'd find the closest associates and get them on their way to Harry. "I'm sending someone to get you."

"Thanks," Harry said. "Sorry. Couldn't even get rid of the Nix. I wasn't expecting it to be the same one. I mean, what are the odds?"

Knowing how frequently Harry attracted trouble, the odds seemed fairly reasonable to me. "Don't worry about that." I took my own steadying breath. I was rattled. I shouldn't have been. The urge to lock Harry away in the mansion was rearing its unwelcome head again. I resisted it; Harry would never forgive me.

When had he gained such power over me?

Hendricks sent another message to me, letting me know two of our people were on their way to Harry and would be getting to him within the hour, barring traffic issues. "I have two men on their way to you."

"One to take me back, one to take the Beetle?"

I grit my teeth. Of all the times for Harry to insist on rescuing that piece of-- "Yes."

Harry laughed, this time softer, like he was being careful not to start another torrent of coughs. "Thank you, John," he said mirthfully. "I'm going to go lay down 'til the goons get here. Head's killing me."

"I'll see you soon."

"'kay."

"Call me if you need anything." I sent a message through the network to my flight team, asking them to make sure the helicopter was fueled and ready. Precautions.

"I will." Harry lingered on the line for a long moment, just breathing. "Bye."

I hung up the phone and sighed. As I did, I felt like there was _something_ in my chest. Sharp, catching on every exhale. It unsettled me.

"He'll be fine," Hendricks told me. Like I needed to hear the obvious.

"Of course he will be." I gave Hendricks a withering glare.

He looked back to his work. I hoped that was the end of it, but after a few minutes, he asked, "Want me to cancel the rest of your day?"

For God's sake. I freely admit I courted Harry Dresden persistently. It had been impossible not to. He had such raw power, it radiated from him. There was, in my experience, nothing more satisfying than finding an complicated problem to fix. I wasn't used to being refused, and in the early days of our acquaintance Harry had refused me thoroughly. Combine his stubborn autonomy with his raw power, and I'd faced an irresistable challenge. And these days Harry called himself _my_ wizard, thank you _very_ much.

So there was that. And, yes, the fact remained that I enjoyed Harry's company more than was wise. Call him my guilty pleasure, my only indulgence.

But I was not a lovesick teenager. I would have eyes on Harry in a short amount of time and he'd be in good hands. There was no reason for me to get involved yet.

I printed off the documents I needed for the next meeting and set to gearing myself up for it. Hendricks' gaze was hard on me as I did, but refused to humor him.

As I passed Hendricks on my way to the board room, he muttered, "No man is an island, entire of itself."

"Don't ever quote Hemingway in my office again."

"I was quoting Donne."

"I'm going to my meeting. Don't allow any interruptions unless it's an emergency."

Hendricks nodded, but in that way that meant he thought I was being ridiculous. Strange, as it seemed to me like everyone else was.

 

When I got back to the mansion, it was after dark. I'd soldiered through all my meetings and even took a few calls I'd been putting off before leaving the office. I would have lingered longer, but Hendricks abruptly started getting his things together and pulling on his coat. I believe his patience in me had run out.

I deigned to be taken home and upon arriving, Tulane, who ran the house security detail, approached. "Boss..."

My stubbornness and pride had been satisfied by then. I let myself worry. "How is he?"

Tulane frowned. "You'd think he's never had a cold before, sir. Moaning about it all day." He nodded to the door on the other side of the foyer. "He's in there with the skull. Been laying down for a while."

"Thank you," I said, and dismissed Tulane before heading that way into the main living area. I spotted the skull first, sitting on the coffee table next to a bottle of medication and a tall glass of orange juice. The skull was facing one of the sofas. I could see what I assumed was Harry, lying across the cushions, a throw pillow under his head, a blanket tucked tightly around him.

He looked _terrible_. His face was pale except for his nose, red and irritated. There was a clammy quality to his complexion, a shininess from sweat. His eyes were fever bright and unfocused.

I walked heavily towards him, making sure my footfalls made enough noise to be heard. It still took too long for Harry to look at me, sluggish and weary. "What happened?" he asked hoarsely.

I leaned down to press my hand to his forehead. Hot, but not dangerously so. I needed to procure a thermometer, one of the old mercury-filled types. "I don't know what you mean."

"Were gone a long time," he muttered, tilting his face into my hand. "Hand's cold."

"Sorry."

"No, s'good. I feel like I'm burning up."

I plucked meaningfully at the thick blanket he was under.

"No, I'll start shivering. Like... really hard. Hurts." He made a soft sound at me. "Put your hand back."

I smiled faintly and palmed his cheek. Harry sighed and shut his eyes, contented. "Have you eaten?"

"Your kitchen confuses me," he said, which meant no. He started to say something else, but began coughing alarmingly. It sounded ragged, coming from deep in his body, and shook him. I sat down next to him on the sofa and rubbed his back until it subsided. "Fuck."

I looked to the skull. "How do we fix this?"

The skull's eyelights shone on me. "Can't. Got to wait it out."

"Unacceptable. There must be something."

"Nothing he can do," the skull retorted. "Best way to kill the curse is to kill the Nix that put him under it. Harry is in no condition to do that. He couldn't banish a dewdrop pixie, let alone a Nix he made a dirty deal with." It rocked on the tabletop, what I assumed was its approximation of a shrug. "The curse will get weaker with every sunrise. Eventually, it'll break."

"Can we cure him by mortal means?"

"No. He's been cursed to be sick." It hummed, thinking. "Though you can probably treat the symptoms. Not the cause. And he's not catching, since it's a magic thing, not a mortal thing."

I turned back to Harry to ask him to summarize his symptoms, but discovered he'd fallen asleep as I rubbed his back. He was making a quiet snuffling sound into the blankets, congested and pathetic in an... oddly endearing way. The Florence Nightingale Effect, clearly.

I slipped away to the linen closet, then to the bathroom to wet two hand towels with lukewarm water. I set them on the back of Harry's neck and across his forehead, then left him to make dinner.

I washed vegetables as Harry rested in the next room, and I thought about weakness.

 

Tulane had not been exaggerating about Harry's inability to handle illness. It was a project to get him to the kitchen island to eat. Then I thought I'd have to carry him to my bedroom, he was having such issues with the stairs. I had to find extra pillows for Harry to sleep on, propping up him up so he could breathe.

The true test of Harry's fortitude came when he tried to light the candles in the bedroom. I'd had set up a few candelabra in the room after the third time I had to change the lightbulbs. Simple, modern fixtures each with enough votives to illuminate the room. Usually, it took just a wave of Harry's hand and a mumbled bit of faux-Latin to set fire to every wick in the room.

Tonight, the hand wave and invocation of magic only resulted in a scattering of the candles lighting, and immediately after Harry fell dizzy and had to sit down.

Once I got him settled in bed, I retrieved the sarsen stone bracelets from my study and set them upon his wrists. I hadn't lied when I said they were originally a magical healing aid. The fact their ancillary functions were so useful was merely luck. Of course, if Harry ever turned on me, the first thing I would attempt to do would be to subdue him and apply the bracelets.

But for now, my motives were as pure as they ever were. Harry was kitten weak under the onslaught of the curse and continuing to leak magic like a sieve was not going to help matters.

As he lay there, I sat on the bed beside, back to the headboard. My laptop sat on my legs, connected to the network. I monitored the communications until Hendricks caught me online and sent me a message politely suggesting I go to sleep like a normal person would at the hour. I logged off, but not before sending him a detailed list of all the poets and philosophers I was banning from mention at the office.

I shut down my computer and got ready to sleep. As I did, I couldn't help but watch the curve of stone around Harry's bony wrists. On every slow, weary exhale he gave, the runes on the bracelets glowed with a faint, blue light. I wondered why it was always blue, why his powers manifested in that cool, tranquil hue. It hardly fit him, a man so remarkably destructive. Such power in such an unambitious man. It baffled me that the mortal world so thoroughly ignored him, labeled him a charlatan or eccentric. Harry could wield wind, fire, and sunlight. He could bend the world to his will.

No wonder such people were said to be wise. Their power was tantalizing and just waiting to be grievously misused. And yet I would sacrifice a great deal for just a small taste of that magic.

But I suppose, in a way, I already had it.

I brushed his fringe back off his forehead. "Is the medicine helping?"

He sighed, but nodded. "I hate this. Just throwing that out there."

"I know."

"Can we just nuke the Great Lakes? That'd get rid of the Nix."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

Harry eyed me. "You don't have any nukes, right? I mean, lying around."

I thought about it. Given my connections... Securing such a device would be possible, but hardly worth the cost I'd have to pay out of pocket. "Not currently." I scratched my nails through his hair, drawing a soft moan from him. He shut his eyes and relaxed into the pillows. "I'll see what I can do about this tomorrow."

He nodded, oddly quiescent. "'Kay."

Letting me take care of him without complaint. What a novel experience. I continued to pet his hair as he went to sleep, neglecting my own rest. When the coughing fits hit him, I did my best to soothe him. I could operate on much less sleep than he could, I was sure. One of us had been trained to stay awake for days, peering down a rifle scope, and it wasn't him.

I dozed a few hours and rose early to prepare for my day in the office. I kept quiet, not wanting to disturb Harry. I almost made it out without rousing him, but I caught a glimpse of his dark eyes as I pulled on my shoes.

"Going?"

"Yes." I gave into the impulse to lean over and brush my lips over his temple. "No rest for the wicked."

"Can't stay?"

I gave it serious thought. Calling off my day, staying in this little far-away piece of world deep in the mansion, letting my empire handle itself so I could stay here with my wizard.

I gave it far too much consideration.

Looking down at him, I wanted to stay and neglect my responsibilities. He was ill and wanted my company. How often I'd watched him walk away from me when I had wanted his. And how I wanted to get back into bed and sleep in and be lazy and warm, away from the October chill.

This was a problem. I needed to fix it.

"I have things to tend to. I'll be back when I can get away."

Harry sighed, the sound so disappointed and forlorn, my resolve cracked, but did not break. "Lunch?"

"I'll try." I finished lacing my shoes and gave him a lingering kiss. "Take care of yourself. Call if you require anything."

He hummed and turned onto his side, away from me.

That sharp pull in my chest returned, and twisted.

I needed to fix this now.

 

I had legitimate work to handle and delegate before tackling the issue of Harry Dresden. The _Dionysus_ situation was getting worse and I had to call in some favors to have it temporarily... waylaid. I would need a more permanent solution later. There was nothing more irritating than an intrepid reporter, though when I said so to Hendricks, he got that deeply disapproving brow wrinkle that meant my ethical stance was once more out of sync with the rest of the world.

I entertained the idea of provoking him into a debate about the ever-shifting moral zeitgeist. It would be good practice for his night classes, surely. But it would also be quite petty and I had better things to do.

A curt, to the point message was fired off to Oslo before starting my calls of the day. It took longer than I'd like, thanks to a minor incident I had to take care of. Often I was called away from my legal business to deal with troubles in the Outfit.

This was the first time I had to fire an employee making collection rounds. Why he felt the urge to update his Facebook status to indicate he was picking up protection money, I have no idea.

I sent out a mass email forbidding my people from using social networks while on the job, which was mortifying in of itself.

When I was finished, Hendricks stepped over to my desk. "Gard says she can come by anytime this afternoon."

I shook my head. "Contact her, tell her I need to access the Vault. I'd appreciate passage to MonOc."

Shortly thereafter, I got a call from Ms. Sigrun Gard, my contact at MonOc Securities, saying she was waiting for me at the designated meet-up point. I pulled on my coat and wound a scarf around my neck, tugging some gloves on. It was cold enough in Chicago this time of year. Norway was immeasurably worse. "I'll be gone a few hours. Hold the fort," I told Hendricks.

Hendricks nodded once. "Will do, boss."

"And..." I didn't want to say it. It was an admission of weakness, that Harry's condition still worried me so. Hendricks must've already known. He was very observant and I had been out of sorts most of the day. I found myself checking the schedule obsessively, wondering if I had enough time between my meetings and engagements to nip back home to see how Harry was doing. I set my computer to monitor the network, keeping the pages and texts and emails scrolling in a crawl at the bottom of my screen. After a few hours I gave up pretending to pay attention to any associates other than those stationed at home and filtered out everyone else. I knew Harry had slept most of the day, checked in with his skull, ate a small lunch, and was sitting in the living room at the moment.

Yet still I was being driven to distraction. This was dangerous, effecting my ability to compartmentalize and focus.

This was all unacceptable.

I did not jump when Hendricks touched my shoulder, but it was a very close thing. "I'll call in and see how he's doing. I got this, Johnny."

I nodded. "Yes. Thank you." I grabbed my suitcase, trying to stifle the voice in my head that claimed if I left quickly, I could swing by and--

No. Impulse control, for God's sake. This wasn't a new concept for me.

Gard was waiting at the usual spot, a block away from the zoo. She was a tall, striking woman who I suspected was not as human as she appeared. A wizardess at least, if not something else entirely. She wore a sharp suit and carried a knife on her hip.

I bowed my head respectfully to her. She returned the gesture in kind. "Thank you for meeting me on such short notice, Ms. Gard."

"Of course, Mr. Marcone." She pulled the knife out of its sheath. It was some kind of stone, old but well-cared for with runes carved into the handle and hilt. "Shall we, then?"

It was a sort of magic I didn't quite understand yet. She sliced the air and opened what she called a Way. We stepped through, walking from Chicago concrete to a dark forest. It was dark as night, no stars or moons overhead to light the way. Ms. Gard illuminated our path with a ball of soft light that floated over our heads as we trekked along. Around us, I could feel eyes and foreign presences, watching keenly. The first time I'd traveled with Gard in this fashion, that feeling had left me hyper-alert and unsteady. By now, I knew my safe passage was all but assured. Nothing dared approach my guide.

"I believe you wanted to see your Vault?" Gard broached the question, perhaps to pass the time as we walked.

"Yes. I'm hoping something in the collection will be of use to me. I have a delicate situation I need remedied."

She arched a golden brow at me, but I volunteered no further information. Gard didn't take offense; she was pleasantly professional, I found. Such was why she was my preferred agent. I valued professionalism highly in my contractors.

MonOc was as militantly organized and pristine as ever. The Tree itself was breath-taking as always, though I kept a tight lid on my awe. Since I had realized the true magnitude of MonOc's existence, I had gained much perspective over my own dealings in Chicago. It made my alliance with Donar Vadderung all the more suspicious. After all, Vadderung had approached _me_. Our contract may have been as fairly constructed as any I'd ever signed, but I nevertheless waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Gard took me to one of the upper floors in the elevator. The floor was at first glance small: the elevator doors opened into a small lobby area with an attendant sitting behind a desk and two massive yew doors.

Gard and I stepped out and walked to the doors. She reached into her pocket and drew out a key.

I reached into my own pockets and pulled out my keyring. The majority of them were the normal car and office keys, but one was a large, incongruous iron key. It matched the one Gard held.

In wordless, practiced unison, we inserted our keys and opened the doors. "I will wait for you here," she said, moving to lean on the wall by the doors.

Over the threshold was darkness. There was no visible floor, no walls. Just black. It was quite disconcerting.

I permitted myself a long, calming breath before shutting my eyes and stepping through into the Labyrinth.

Here, precision was everything. I'd been showed the steps my first few trips to Oslo, early in my contract with Mr. Vadderung. He'd been the one to teach me the way. Twenty-seven long steps forward, three to the right, nine to the left, and another three left. It had to be perfect each time, I'd been warned.

"Or what?" I had asked, unavoidably curious. "The minotaur will find me?"

Vadderung had thrown his head back and barked a laugh. "Oh, much worst than that, Marcone."

I believed him. Walking blind through the Labyrinth, I heard a large _something_ lurking, hidden in the darkness. Whatever the beast was, it guarded my Vault (and perhaps others-- I had no idea how many MonOc provided this service to) and I generally was glad for that. But when I was in its grasp myself, at the mercy of a simple combination of steps and turns, fear ran down my spine, a primal terror of the unknowable danger.

My steps were as measured as ever and I opened my eyes within my Vault. It was a truly massive room, one that should not have fit within the building-tree, but the laws of basic physics didn't always apply to the supernatural world.

Part of me wanted to master this piece of magic and apply it to a hotel renovation. It had the chance to be extremely profitable.

But that was another day. Today, I walked through the Vault, examining the glass cases holding the various artifacts I'd gotten my hands on since becoming aware of the power of the supernatural. The sarsen stone bracelets I applied to Harry were just one piece of my collection. Some things had been bought at various shady auctions. Some had mysteriously disappeared from museums. The majority were purchased from dealers who specialized in this brand of rarity, who never spoke of their sources.

I wasn't sure what I was looking for. At some point, I needed to bring Harry here to show him what I had amassed. But currently, his moral compass was still too rigid. I could imagine his ultimatum-- return the artifacts to their rightful owners or we were done. I was yet unsure how I would respond to that, so for now I was avoiding it.

But that also left me somewhat out of my depth. I went through each item, waiting for something to catch my attention. A Scandinavian tinderbox with ornate carvings in the wood, a bronze ring that I'd had unearthed from a desert overseas, an athame recovered from Bianca St. Clair's old House, and a sliver of iron that had been part of Dáinsleif, they all sat in the small items section of the vault with other small tokens.

No obvious answers presented themselves. Only more questions. Would drinking from a goblet hewn from the Bodhi Tree ease Harry's suffering? Would one of the bullets used to kill Grigori Rasputin be useful in a ritual to improve health? Would circling Harry with stones taken from a Native American medical wheel speed his recovery?

My contemplation was interrupted by footsteps. I turned to see my host step out of the darkness and into the Vault. He was a giant of a man, like no one else I'd ever seen. He was a walking contradiction, wearing a wide, well-cut suit even as his scraggly hair and rugged, scarred face gave him away as something more than a simple CEO. Handsome in a completely masculine way, but what attractiveness he had was tempered by the fatherly air that followed him.

Odin, residing in Yggdrasil, Father of All. Or, Donar Vadderung, my business partner.

I put my hands in my pockets, subtly tugging my suit straight and lean over my body. I wore pinstripes like chainmail. "Mr. Vadderung."

"Marcone," Vadderung greeted with a roguish grin. "What brings you to Oslo, little one?"

Most of my acquaintances in the mortal world would be stunned to hear I allowed anyone to refer to me as _little one_. I don't appreciate such diminutives, no, but I didn't intend to fight a living god about what he could and could not call me. I have my pride, but I am not suicidal.

"Searching for something," I said vaguely. Vadderung fastened his electric blue eye on my face and I felt my resolve slip aside. "I am looking for anything that stands a chance at dispelling a curse."

He nodded and stepped further into the room, helping himself to the only seat in the vault-- a solid gold bench covered with Egyptian hieroglyphics.

The seat had allegedly belonged to one of the Pharaohs and anyone who fell asleep upon it would sleep forever. When we received it, Hendricks had been the one to crack open the shipping crate with the iron bar he carried on his belt. He had stared at it for a long moment then asked me, "What're we going to do with it?"

I didn't have an answer ready. So I had shrugged and suggested, "Conversation piece?"

Sitting, Vadderung pressed, "What sort of curse?"

"A curse of poor health." I mentally reviewed our contract in my mind, taking careful note of our mutual non-aggression clause. "My wizard is ill. I was hoping to find something to help him."

Vadderung nodded solemnly. "Would you like some guidance, little one?"

I knew better than to agree out-right, but I could use some expertise. "What will such guidance cost me?"

I was surprised when he laughed, low and rumbling like thunder. "You think I do business with you for your money, Marcone?"

"I would hope so, considering what I'm paying you." That came out more flippant than it should have. I did my best not to be disrespectful to actual deities. "If not that, then why?"

Vadderung put a hand on the bench next to him. I inclined my head and took the seat offered, careful to keep a few inches between us. This close to him, the air seemed charged with power, that smell like ozone in the air. It was similar to the air around Harry after he'd been casting spells, but somehow older, thicker, aged like wine. Or, more appropriately, like mead.

"I have lived a little while. I can recognize the power in people. The potential." He smirked sideways at me. "You and your wizard, the two of you may be remarkable if you live long enough."

I already knew that. I had plans, so many plans. Having a remarkable destiny was encouraging. One way or another, monumental things would come our way. If, as Vadderung pointed out, Harry and I didn't get ourselves killed in the meantime.

"Professional curiosity then."

"Personal curiosity would be more accurate, I think." His gaze was quite keen on me, giving me the impression he was staring deep into me, maybe into my future, into the could-bes and may-bes to come.

It made me uncomfortable, so I steered us back to business. Safer waters. "Then, if I may ask for future reference... if not money, what should I use when bargaining with you?"

Vadderung hummed in thought, looking away finally. I quietly took a deep breath, calming my nerves. "The other resource you have in such abundance, little one," he said after a moment, turning sideways on the bench to face me, one massive leg bent between us. "People. The souls in your charge."

I frowned, disapproval moving quickly over my face. "I do not collect souls." People may have called me the devil, but I never thought anyone would take that literally.

Vadderung shook his head, gaze softening with patience. "No, but you collect lives. The two go hand in hand."

I couldn't say I was any more pleased with this turn in the conversation than the previous one. Information was important though and these were merely hypotheticals. "Specifics, then. What would garner me a favor or two from you?"

"Hmm." He rubbed his face, fingers smoothing down his tame yet full beard. "How about... the man you keep with you. No," he held up a hand before I could react, "not your wizard. I know there is nothing I could give you for him. But the red one. Sigrun says he is noble, intelligent, and a warrior. He is much like one of my own children."

I didn't have to stop to think about it. "No. He is not for sale."

Vadderung held out both his hands, palms up and open. "You take him off the table without knowing what I would offer for him. You think I would mistreat such a prize of a man? That I wouldn't make use of him for good works?"

"I did not mean to imply that," I replied evenly. "But he is mine. I..." _Weakness_ , I thought. "He's not for sale, to any terms."

My host nodded. "You need him." How astute of him. Vadderung saw more with his one eye than most did with two.

"Perhaps."

"Fair enough." Vadderung clapped a large hand on my shoulder, then pushed himself to stand. "Objects of faith, Marcone."

"What of them?"

Vadderung gestured to the Vault around us. "You've pulled together a good trove in this time. What you should look for is an object of faith. Such things aid in healing and mending. The more belief and tribute poured into the object, the more aid it can offer to your plight."

Interesting. That made sense with what Harry had told me of magic, how so much of it was grounded in trusting the magic would work, like a self-fulfilling prophecy. "Does it matter what faith?"

"Such methods work best when you use a symbol you or the one being healed believes in."

That was certainly food for thought. A powerful artifact I believed in could be invaluable. A sufficiently powerful item could reverse damage. Heal on more efficiently. Perform what the uninitiated would call miracles.

"Thank you," I murmured to Vadderung as he left.

I stayed in the Vault, sitting on the bench, no longer thinking solely of Harry Dresden.

 

Harry was lying across the sofa in the entertainment room when I returned home. He retained that loose, exhausted look, his skin still pallid, eyes blurrily tracking the television. The bracelets around his wrists glowed with light every few seconds, though I thought the blue seemed less vivid and bright, like the color was being filtered through a dirty glass.

I ducked upstairs long enough to change out of my suit and into a tee and some faded, loose yoga pants. Encouraged by the fact Harry wasn't contagious, I gave into the need to slip onto the sofa with him. We wordlessly rearranged so I was reclining over the seats with Harry behind me with his arm slung over my chest and his head pillowed against a pectoral. Without talking, we watched the TV for a while, watching two scientists test some hypothesis, witness their test fail, then decide with a disturbing amount of glee that the key to success was 500 per cent more gunpowder.

The results were no more conclusive, but the spectacle was rather nice, I had to admit.

"Why are you watching this?" I asked Harry quietly during a commercial.

"Was on." He nosed against my shirt, apparently taken in by the softness resulting from being washed too many times. "Can't figure out your remote."

A chuckle startled out of me. Of course. "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit," he replied, the _duh_ silent but heavily implied. "Bob says I got almost a week of being sick at this rate."

He made the proposition sound like a prison sentence. It was amazing how Harry could be so apt at his Art but rather inept at... everything else. He was plainly unhappy, and something about that cut into me like a stiletto under the ribs. It was different when we were dealing with the Margravine and her House. We had a solid goal and I knew when we accomplished it, the frustration and suffering would give way to an exceptionally sweet victory. But this needless misery that he had to weather _bothered_ me.

I traced nonsense patterns over his scalp with my nails, lulling him. When he shut his eyes and breathed deeply against me, slipping into a doze, I turned the TV down and grabbed my Blackberry off the coffee table. Working with one thumb against the keypad, I slowly selected a number out of my mental rolodex (it was unwise to store certain numbers where they could implicate you, I found) and typed out a message:

 _Have a job. Nothing strenuous but must be done quickly. Can your contractee spare you?_

I got an answer scarcely ten minutes later.

 _will ask. see you soon._

I frowned at the reply, displeased with his demeanor. As I said, I value a certain amount of professionalism in my associates. The man I was looking to contract was very good at his job, amorphous as it was, but otherwise quite irritating. But he was my best option.

I put my Blackberry away and ran my knuckles over Harry's rough, unshaven cheek as he slept.

 

My mansion was heavily warded and was the most secure location in Chicago. Harry had built a large webbed net of protections radiating out from the house itself, tethering them to our threshold. A few months ago, he'd informed me in an embarrassed tone that we had a decent threshold going and had set himself to the task of putting that threshold to good use. The entire house had a band of iron embedded into the outer walls, engraved with symbols that reinforced the home aura. There was also the odd obelisk scattered around the estate, built by Harry with Michael Carpenter's help. Each was tied to the home and would alarm when specific supernatural beings approached. Stepping into the house itself was practically impossible without possessing a charm wrought from silver and copper; each guard carried one, along with Harry's friends. There was also the matter of every mirror in the house being magically altered to prevent something called a fetch from coming through.

"Coming through from _where_?" I had asked Harry when we were rehanging the bedroom mirror.

"Don't play Russian Roulette with loaded questions like that."

It wasn't often Harry dodged my questions about magic. Whatever this mysterious place was, it was a major deal to practitioners. Perhaps it was the same place Gard's Way was. Or perhaps this elusive Nevernever I kept hearing about. So much yet to learn...

But the point being the mansion was heavily fortified against intrusion from either Harry's side of the magical-mundane divide or mine. But that did not stop everything.

I left Harry sleeping upstairs to have my morning coffee. I will forever blame the lack of caffeine in my system for the fact I didn't notice the wards until it was too late. Major threats on the estate grounds sent actual bells ringing throughout the house, a warning charm Harry had set up. Minor intrusions or detected presences, they registered with the candles laid across the mantle place. Each of them was a slightly different color, every one correlating to a specific type of supernatural entity. Normally, the candles' flames were the usual yellow-orange. When something tripped a specific ward, the appropriate candle would change color.

As I took the first sips of my latte, I scanned the wards. The candles for _powerful_ and _unknown entity_ were glowing bright green.

Before I could flick out a knife or retrieve the pistol stashed in the silverware drawer, I feel a pressure against my back. A gun barrel, I guessed. I stilled, then carefully set my coffee aside and lifted my hands.

"Mr. Kincaid," I greeted evenly, refusing to let my annoyance show in my voice. "Is this really necessary?"

Jared Kincaid, the Hellhound, laughed quietly, hot breath against my neck. The gun pointed at my spine was removed. "Long time no see, Johnny. Heard you've been busy in the last year. Sent the vampires packing. How'd those guns work out for you?"

I turned slowly, in case Kincaid was going to attempt any more of his games to unsettle me. He had a habit of doing things like this whenever I contracted him. It was rather ridiculous. I had no idea what he was trying to prove. "Excellent, thank you. How did you get in?"

Kincaid smirked, meeting my gaze. The lack of soulgaze always made me curious about the man. If he were a wizard, we would look upon each others' souls, but that hadn't happened. Yet I knew he was not a vanilla human-- my sources found evidence of the Hellhound working as a mercenary centuries ago as well as recently. He couldn't be an average mortal. The wards didn't seem to recognize him either.

"You set up a little arcane fortress like this, some people are going to see it as a challenge." He holstered his gun and leaned back, elbows propped on the countertop. "Client needs me back by week's end. What do you want?"

I took a sip of my latte, relaxing. I truly did not believe Kincaid was going to make an attempt on my life. I had the feeling he'd save that until someone paid him to do it, and he wouldn't chit-chat before doing me in.

"I need someone killed. Or perhaps some _thing_ would be more appropriate."

Kincaid nodded. "Something's got your pet wizard laid up, right?" I narrowed my eyes at him. There was no way he should have known that. Kincaid's smirk widened into a self-satisfied grin. "I've got some really good sources. Don't worry, it's not common knowledge."

"And who is this mysterious source of yours, Mr. Kincaid?" There was steel in my voice, a low threat.

It didn't seem to bother Kincaid at all. He just grinned some more. "Sorry, can't say. I don't share info about my clients. And anyway," the smugness ratcheted up even higher, "you're one of the straights. Not for you to know."

"I am much more than _one of the straights_." The implication frustrated me. I was in the process of making a mark in the supernatural community, but this attitude, it was pervasive. Vanilla mortals were so easily set aside, like young children forced to sit at the kid's table while the Council, the Courts, the Accorded entities, they all spoke freely of subjects that had influence not only over them, but the side-lined mortals as well. I had enough of shadow organizations during my service, thank you.

"Not legally, Marcone." Kincaid shrugged. "Don't bitch at me, I don't make the rules."

While Kincaid only trotted out such orthadox sentiments to antagonise me, others truely believed in this world order. I didn't appreciate the reminder. It was infuriating, but not unexpected. I was still working on the issue of becoming a more recognized force in the community. The process wasn't going as fast as I hoped. "Very well. The job, are you interested?"

The Hellhound nodded. "Sure. Could use a nice bit of violence after all my bodyguarding. Easy work, good money, but, well..." He shrugged. "Variety, spice of life, you know. Got a target in mind?"

"Yes. Care for a coffee?"

He took his, predictably and cliche enough, black. I explained about the Nix, the bad health curse, and how killing the spellcaster would kill the spell by extension. Kincaid nodded along, looking more serious finally. He seemed to take the job seriously, much to my relief. I offered a standard fee with a bonus if he could complete it sooner.

"Sounds good." He set his coffee down. "Let me get a look at your wizard and I'll be on my way."

I was shocked by the audacity of the request and shut my expression down to a blank frown in response. Kincaid started laughing.

"I need to get a whiff of the spell, Marcone. I'm not going to hurt him. Think of it as giving a hound a sniff of a missing person's shirt. I need to get a feel for the spell."

"Another five thousand and you do it without," I told him sternly.

"Wow, I've met paranoid bastards before, but you? You are a piece of work, Marcone." He smirked toothily at me. "Okay. Extra five-kay and I'll do it the hard way."

I nodded solemnly. "If you require transportation, the garage attendant will see to it you get anywhere in city limits you require."

"Is that Gentleman-speak for get the fuck out of my house?"

"No, this is," I said solemnly and leaned across the island to stare hard at the Hellhound. "Get the fuck out of my house, Mr. Kincaid. If you break through the wards again, I'll have you killed. Understood?"

He gave me a flippant salute and got up. "Nice doing business with you, Mr. Marcone. I'll call you when its done."

I watched him leave, not even breathing until the ward candles returned to a natural yellow. The breath I'd been holding came out in a tired sigh.

I put Kincaid out of my mind for a while. Harry would be waking up soon and I wanted to spend some time seeing that he ate and took some medicine before I headed into the office.

I started breakfast, letting the red juice of a blood orange stain my fingers, and I thought about strength.

 

Word came in the late afternoon that the project in the basement was finished. It'd been difficult to covertly manage the production with Harry confined to the mansion with his illness. The only advantage I had was Harry's lack of familiarity with the house security. Any of the contractors wandering around the house were instructed to identify as the security detail if questioned. It was pure luck that most of the work took place while Harry slept or mindlessly stared at the television.

But with everything finished and the project having been a quickly planned and executed favor from a friend, the contractors needed to remove their equipment and prep for their next job.

I keyed up the network and checked the latest update. Harry was up and wandering around the house, having failed to make himself lunch. I frowned.

"Hendricks," I said. "Have someone bring Harry something to eat."

Hendricks glanced at me over his laptop. "I should get you a copy of _The Sims_."

" _The Sims?_ "

"Video game. Lets you micromanage the lives of simulated people."

That sounded too much like my day job. Or, rather, my day/night/all hours job. "What's the appeal?"

Hendricks shrugged one big shoulder. "They annoy you too much, you save the game, light the house on fire, and watch 'em burn. Then load up your save again. Like it never happened."

That made a good deal more sense. I wondered if it was cathartic to set something on fire. I'd have to ask Harry sometime. "Stevenson's done with the project. I need to make sure Harry doesn't see them as they leave."

The look Hendricks gave me was one of great fear. "No. Boss, no, come on, I was kidding about the game thing."

I steepled my fingers and tapped them against my mouth. "I was actually going to ask you for any suggestions, but that's a very good one." I brought up my schedule and looked it over. "Today is mostly business meetings anyway. I should be all right without you."

He jawed at me for a while, making inarticulate noises of protest. But none of them formed into real objections. I expected as much; Hendricks and Harry, after a rocky start, had managed to strike up a friendly relationship. I knew they tried to get to _Typhoon_ every week or two for drinks and conversation. Clearly they enjoyed each other's company.

"Consider it a light work day. Just go and occupy him while the carpenters clear out." When Hendricks scoffed, I gave him a long stare over the top of my desktop monitor, making it clear I didn't want to make this an order, but I would if that's what it took.

Hendricks sighed in that long-suffering, passive aggressive manner he had perfected, and packed up his things, leaving a few moments later.

Of course that wasn't the end of it. For the remainder of the day, I continued to deal with messages sent from the house as Hendricks occupied Harry.

 _he cheats at card games, just to prove he can_ , Hendricks informed me via a text. _keeps them in his sleeves._

 _Given his namesakes, I am unsurprised_ , I sent back, returning my attention to the expansion meeting. I was convincing everyone to curtail growth into Northwest Passage area. MacFinn was a tentative ally and I didn't wish to anger him. Inherited silver was not as easy to locate as one would hope.

 _how do you sleep with someone with such quixotic views on morality? and I mean quixotic in the CLASSICAL sense._

Harry did harbor a... problematic moral code, but I'd learned not to hold that against him.

Hendricks followed that up quickly with, _how can he be so heteronormative still? I think he identifies as straight._

Before I could respond, he followed up with, _yes he does._

Then, _he just did that limp-wrist gay thing._

 _boss, with all due respect, you have no taste._

I chuckled and didn't reply for a while, returning my attention to the meeting. Convincing people to not pursue a likely very profitable expansion was not as simple as cajoling them into investing in a risky venture. I could hardly say, 'as a favor to an ally of mine, we're not going to do this.'

When I finally had time to check back in with Hendricks, I had a backlog of messages, all his incredulous grievances against Harry. I thumbed down to the latest remarks.

 _won't actually kill him. it's very tempting though._

 _but may use him as a model for my paper on cognitive dissonance in psychology. professor would love it._

 _he just sneezed so hard he hit his head on the sofa arm. aw._

 _why are shows of ineptitude so effective in inspiring empathy? latent paternal urges stirred up by perceived inferiority?_

And the rest of the messages seemed to be Hendricks trying to come up a philosophical or psychological excuse for his want to comfort the sick wizard. I made a note to back up the messages. They'd make excellent blackmail material for the future.

 

Another evening of Harry complaining about not being able to taste anything at dinner. Another night of Harry's ragged coughing and restless slumber. Another morning of his attempts to get me to take a day off, it was _Saturday_ , for god's sake, I couldn't take off one Saturday?

On my way into the office, I called Kincaid's number. "What is the hold-up?"

"Busy, Marcone," the Hellhound snapped back over the line, barely audible over the sound of gunfire. He hung up on me.

I schooled my expression into one of surly disinterest, a step up from the annoyance I was feeling and barely able to restrain.

My employees were giving me a noticeably wider berth than usual as I went about my day. Hendricks usually pointed out to me when I was getting too... intent, but today even he seemed to be keeping his distance. That was new for us.

I made myself stop monitoring the network, limiting myself to checking in on Harry only once per hour. I focused, I worked, I made progress even as the back of my mind fixated on Harry.

Weakness, weakness, weakness.

It was to everyone's relief that Hendricks interrupted the brainstorming meeting I was pretending to pay attention to. "Came through a half hour ago. Been waiting for a chance to come in," he said almost apologetically, handing me a memo. A voice mail was left on the private office line, the one only Hendricks, Harry, Vadderung, and Gard had the number for. Kincaid found the number somehow-- I had to meet his source someday-- and it was short, just two words:

"Job's done."

I nodded, and brought up the network, searching the last half hour's updates.

 _Athena in bug, N on Gold Coast, nearing homebase._

Harry had been out of the house? He'd been _driving_? I scrolled further back, finding that Harry had left, gone to the Whole Foods on Huron, and was almost back home.

It was selfish, but I adjourned the meeting and headed to the mansion myself. I wanted to-- no, _needed_ to see. Just to confirm for myself.

I left Hendricks to park the car and headed inside, making a beeline for the kitchen. A plastic bag sat on the island, chips and jarred ranch dip spilling out of it. I checked the fridge and found an unopened box of Coke stashed on the bottom shelf. Any other time, I'd protest the soda in my house, but I needed to find Harry.

He wasn't in the master suite, in his bedroom, or in the living room. The den was empty as ever, and when I asked him, Tulane could offer no help in my search.

I stalked back into the living room, wondering if I'd have to resort to shouting for him to find him. Before it could some to that, I heard a murmur behind me, " _Erazrof._ "

A force pulled me back, hard, my feet scrambling to stay under me. I would have fallen, but my back landed against someone and arms quickly caught me, tucked around my torso to hold me up. I tipped my head back enough to see Harry smirking down at me. There was color in his cheeks, and clarity had returned to his eyes, no longer fever bright. His nose was still red from irritation, but otherwise he was himself again.

I'd grown so used to the tight pain in my chest, I'd almost forgotten about it until it loosened and released me.

"John," Harry said slowly, voice tinged with equal parts exasperation and affection. "What did you do?"

"You'll have to be more specific," I said in a hushed voice. Like this, the back of my head rested against his shoulder, his height advantage somewhat exaggerated with all my weight leaning on him. He held me easily though, his strength doubtlessly returned with his health.

"Let's see... what could it be, oh yeah," he snapped his fingers. "I'm _not cursed anymore_." His good-humored look darkened. "Am I going to get visits from angry Wardens again?"

"No. Hired an independent. He was highly recommended for his discretion. There will be no trace back to me." Reluctantly, I extracted myself from his support, standing and turning to face him. "What was that spell?"

"New one." He waggled his fingers at me, smiling mischievously. "Like my force spell, but in reverse, so I can pull instead of just push."

"I don't recognize the Latin." I'd been studying the language since the White Council meeting last year. If Latin was the wizarding community's _lingua franca_ , I needed to know it.

"Well, you're still learning." He half-stepped closer to me, and I held myself very still for a moment, waiting.

Harry lifted his arms and laid them across my shoulders, leaning slightly against me, bringing our faces close together. He moved deliberately, as he did with few other things. This was Harry Dresden in unknown waters, navigating by instinct. Hendricks was not wrong about Harry's myriad issues with his sexuality and our relationship. I could see moments when he floundered, unsure how this was similar to his dates with his ex-girlfriend and how it was different. He touched with thoughtful caution, seeming to constantly test his own boundaries. He was relearning intimacy.

I let him, not wanting to push. When he settled, standing close to me with his his arms around my shoulders, one hand just barely skirting the hair at the nape of my neck. only then did I reach up and curl my hands around his biceps, squeezing with silent encouragement. "How are you feeling?"

"Good. Amazing, compared to two hours ago. That was _awful_ ," he bemoaned, swaying forward so his forehead pressed to mine.

"I'm glad."

"One other thing though." His voice quieted with his close proximity. "Went into my room today. Needed to put on some real clothes, you see."

I didn't react at all.

"And what should I find but all my things missing. Well, not everything, but all the magic stuff." His fingers teased my neck, sliding up into my hair, then back down again. "So I went looking, wondering where you hid everything this time."

"Organization is not akin to sabotage, Harry," I reminded him, not for the first time.

He went on like I hadn't spoken. "So I searched a bunch of the house. Eventually noticed the carpet near the basement stairs was flattened like people had been moving in and out for a while. Hey, don't look surprised. I can be observant, you know."

He could be remarkably astute, but what facts he caught and what ones he missed seemed wholly random to me.

Harry leaned even closer. "You got me a lab?"

I'd wanted it to be a surprise. Though, I supposed it was for him. Pity I wasn't there to give it to him properly. "Happy birthday."

He chuckled, breath against my lips. "Little late though."

"You were sick."

He nodded. "True. Why a lab?"

Why? I considered that for a moment.

Because it was needed. I needed him to be at home here. He needed a workspace and a place to stash that damned skull.

Necessity. With us, it was always necessity.

"Seemed the thing to do," I said. "Do you like it?"

"Yeah. It's great." He hesitated just a second, then dipped his head down and kissed me, mouth closed but lips soft and warm against mine. It was chaste and simple for a long moment. Harry's tongue flicked out eventually, slow but growing bolder as he pushed. It was always like this, like a first kiss for him every time. He forever seemed shocked by this, unsure if it was allowed. There was a timidness that refused to be fucked out of him, and God knew I had made several game attempts already. I chose to find it endearing.

It always passed, luckily. It just took him backing me up and pushing me to sit on the sofa with him kneeling around me, one knee planted on the cushion between my legs, and he touched with more certainty, kissed more openly. I wrapped my arms around his waist and leaned back, bringing him down against me, enjoying the way he relearned the shape of my mouth every time we did this, tongue sweeping around determinedly.

I spent so long thinking about this. Not having sex on the couch, but having him like this, unequivocally mine. I'd won him, perhaps not fairly but he was very much worth playing dirty for. Harry had power I could only imagine and he was _mine_. His strength and my own were synonymous.

Perhaps I had been forced to confront the fact over the last few days that he was also my greatest weakness, a vulnerability in my armor I needed to work to protect and compensate for. But I was beginning to understand something. An important concept to internalize and embrace. So much of my life had to be organized into one of two columns. Hendricks was an asset. My hair-trigger reaction to children was a liability. My military background was an asset. The name I'd had before I was John Marcone and everything tied to it was a liability.

Harry didn't fit into either group. I couldn't classify what he was to me.

I was beginning to think that when it came to my wizard, strength or weakness was a false dichotomy.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, wow, quite a few people on AO3 are reading this! Cool. For those you don't like WIPs, I'll be posting each part of the series here as they're done. But if anyone wants to follow along as the series is being written, I'll be posting chapters as I finish them at [this LJ comm](http://community.livejournal.com/matterofchicago) for anyone interested.


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